


Gwaine

by kriadydragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Episode, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:52:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriadydragon/pseuds/kriadydragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate take on the episode "Gwaine". What if Merlin had done more than simply cut a finger on those swords?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gwaine

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this piece of awesome art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/855999).

Gwaine

Arthur was right about him; Merlin really was a walking hazard when handling a sword, and not in the way that counted. All Merlin had been trying to do was test the bluntness of a blade so blatantly harmless at first sight, the edges practically flattened instead of the usual keen taper. He had no reason to expect ill consequences form touching the stupid things.

Then the sound of approaching footsteps startled Merlin bad enough for him to fumble his hold on the sword. The blade slipped from his palm to a little ways down his wrist.  
And blood began to flow, thick and hot. 

Between the shock of having caused damage with a blunted sword and the footsteps dangerously close, Merlin didn’t have time to think on the matter (he had yet to even register the pain). Cradling his hand against his chest so that his shirt caught the drops of blood, he grabbed the sword from the floor, dropped it hastily back onto the table then darted into the nearby wardrobe. 

But the blood was coming fast. Merlin could hear it dripping on the wood of the wardrobe. He yanked his neckerchief from his throat and bound his hand and wrist with it as best he could in the dark. Merlin had just finished tucking the end of the neckerchief into his make-shift wrap when the door moaned loudly open and Sirs Oswald’s and Ethan’s boisterous laughter followed, and then all Merlin could think was please don’t see any blood, please don’t see any blood… He could feel that blood soaking through the neckerchief. The pain had finally hit, like fire licking at his wrist and hand, like it was sloughing off the flesh that was turning to liquid. 

The image made him dizzy. Very dizzy. Dizzy and sick and, suddenly, Merlin was finding it very hard to keep his rather wobbily knees from giving out from under him. There was a roaring in Merlin’s ears that joined forces with the pain, making it hard to hear, to think.

Had Sirs Ethan and Oswald found any blood drops, or left, or did or said anything that Merlin would have needed to hear, Merlin didn’t know. He slumped against the side of the wardrobe, and stopped hearing all together.

~oOo~

It wasn’t often that Gwaine succumbed to the whims of guilt, not when it came to who bought the drinks and the means by which he could pay the tab (or, to be honest, the means by which he could _avoid_ paying the tab). But he was feeling uncharacteristically guilty today. Because it wasn’t just a matter of Merlin having been the one to pay his tab this time around, but Merlin the one who had taken the brunt of Arthur’s retribution for Gwaine’s night out, and took it with far more humility than Gwaine would have ever expressed (had he been inclined to express any humility at all, which would happen when pigs played the pipes and danced a jig). That kid was a bloody gem in a cliff of ugly brown rock, and deserved more than merely Gwaine’s paltry company as they polished an endless line of boots. He deserved a bloody drink, on _Gwaine_. 

But first Gwaine had to find that little sweet-natured gem called Merlin, which turned out to be no real task at all. The maids of this castle were quite receptive to a bright smile and a kiss to the hand. They pointed the way to some fancy guest chambers saying something about seeing Merlin heading in there to attend to the visiting nobles (poor kid). And since no one had seen him leave, then it was safe to assume he was still there.

Gwaine reached the room in question just as the stuffy lords in question were departing, but with no Merlin in tow. Good, it meant the kid had been left behind, no doubt to tidy up what didn’t really need tidying up (because heaven forbid a speck of dust should so much as soil the two lords’ stuffy raiment), and Merlin wouldn’t be missed if he slipped out for an ale or two.  
Gwaine waited until the two lords or knights or whatever they were had vanished around the corner. He checked in both directions, making sure the coast was clear, then slipped gingerly into the room.  
Merlin wasn’t there.

Gwaine was ready to pout about it and grumble over the thought of scouring the entire castle for one skinny, good-natured manservant when a thump pulled his attention to the wardrobe. 

Gwaine would easily admit himself to being a man burdened with a near-unhealthy amount of curiosity, and unburdened by the inhibition to answer to that curiosity no matter the situation nor location. It was reinforced by the sudden image of two of the castle staff having the pleasure getting intimately acquainted in a lord’s closet (a sense of danger always did heighten the “mood,” Gwaine had long ago discovered). And as much as Gwaine would have loved nothing more than to leave the two love birds to their endeavors, neither could he pass up the opportunity for a good laugh. 

Gwaine crept up to the wardrobe, gripped the knobs in both hands, and flung the doors open with a “boo!” on the tip of his tongue.

The jovial shout of surprise became a yelp of alarm when Gwaine suddenly found himself with an armful of skinny, unnervingly pale and frighteningly unconscious manservant. But the shock of Merlin falling limp as a fish from the closet was nothing compared to what covered the boy.

Blood. Far too much blood. It stained his shirt and had soaked nearly every inch of the neckerchief wrapped around his hand, dripping down his skinny, pale arm.

“Oh no, no, no, Merlin! Merlin, mate, can you hear me? Merlin!” Gwaine said, shaking Merlin gently. 

Merlin’s head rolled on his limp neck, his good arm swinging bonelessly. 

“Damn it!” Gwaine hissed, gathering Merlin into his arms as he would one of the frisky barmaids looking for more than just a night of serving drinks. 

No, that wasn’t right. More like a child – a helpless child, all skin, bones, little muscle and no fat, his head resting against Gwaine’s collarbone and his bloodied hand tucked against his chest, the blood painting red trails down his near-white arm. Gwaine’s grip on Merlin was so tight he could feel the boy’s ribs but could barely feel them moving with each weak breath, and he had to force himself to ease his grip, just a little, not wanting to bruise him or restrict his feeble attempts at getting oxygen. Gwaine hurried from the room, moving fast as the fragile burden in his arms would let him.

“Easy, Merlin,” he said. “Easy. I’ve got you, mate. I’ll get you to Gaius.”

Merlin didn’t stir. Had it not been for the slight but still-there motions of the ribcage and the ghost of a warm breath across Gwaine’s jaw, it would have been easy to think Merlin dead. 

Gwaine tensed until his teeth ground together. Those knights had done this. Those bastards had hurt Merlin, stuffed him in a closet, left him to bloody bleed out. And had getting Merlin to Gaius not been so dire a need, he would have hunted the bastards down and made them bleed. But right here and now, they didn’t matter. All that mattered was Merlin and getting him the help he needed.

It seemed an eternity later that Gwaine reached Gaius’ chambers, and when he did he couldn’t set Merlin down fast enough, and had to rein himself in to be gentle about it.

“What happened?” Gaius, who had been grinding herbs, demanded as he dropped his bowl and pestle and made his way straight to his ward. 

“I don’t know,” Gwaine said. He backed quickly away, giving Gaius room to work. “I found him like this. Gaius, he’s lost a lot of blood…”

Gaius grunted in grim agreement. He gathered bottles, had Gwaine gather bandages, and put them all within reach on the workbench. Gaius then unwrapped Merlin’s neckerchief and hissed at the damage and the blood still oozing from the gash.

“He was tending to those knights,” Gwaine seethed. He looked at Gaius with blazing eyes. “They did this. I know they did.”

“Yes, well, let us not jump to conclusions until Merlin is able to give us more details.”

“We have all the details we need!” Gwaine said, gesturing sharply at Merlin’s oozing injury.

“But to go and make accusations without concrete proof will only bring trouble,” Gaius said sternly as he wiped away as much blood as possible for a better look at the wound. When Gwaine opened his mouth to protest, Gaius quickly added, “Trouble that could land on Merlin’s head just as much as your own. And the last thing the boy needs is to end up in the stocks while recovering from blood loss.”

Gwaine snorted. “Yeah, right. Sorry, but even the princess can’t be that cruel.”

“But his father can,” Gaius muttered, flashing a warning look at Gwaine. “Uther isn’t fond of the boy as is. So, please, don’t do anything rash. Not until we know more. For Merlin’s sake.”

Gwaine heaved a tense sigh, but gave an equally tense nod. It was his fault Merlin had ended up having to polish all those boots. Like hell Gwaine was going to heap more misery on the boy.

With as much of the blood removed as possible, Gaius studied the wound, frowning severely and muttering something about Merlin being lucky that the cut hadn’t gone any deeper over the wrist. Taking a needle and thread, Gaius set to work stitching the wound together. Gwaine watched, wanting to turn away but frozen in place by grotesque fascination. Gaius was quite steady for an old man. He took his time, making sure the flesh was lined up properly. When finished, he slathered the wound with honey then wrapped the arm in the clean linens Gwaine had fetched.

After that, he had Gwaine hold Merlin up while Gaius poured various potions into Merlin’s mouth and massaged Merlin’s throat into swallowing the liquids down. He then had Gwaine remove Merlin’s shirt, carefully; hold him while Gaius washed the dried blood from Merlin’s skinny chest with a rag; dressed the boy in one of his sleeping shirts. 

And in all that time, Merlin had yet to so much as twitch an eyelid. Gaius had Gwaine carry Merlin to his own bed, making Merlin comfortable while still keeping him within easy reach. Once Merlin was situated, Gaius pressed his fingers to the veins of Merlin’s undamaged wrist.

“Thready,” he said.

Gwaine looked from Merlin to Gaius urgently. “Is that bad?”

“It is to be expected considering he lost so much blood. Gwaine, go to that cupboard, there, and fetch me about four blankets and use them to elevate Merlin’s feet. It’s the potential shock I’m most concerned about.”

“And lifting his feet helps with that?” Gwaine asked as he did what Gaius told him.

Gaius nodded. “It keeps the blood where it most matters – specifically his heart and brain.” He lifted Merlin’s hand and placed a small pillow beneath it, elevating it as well. 

Then there was nothing left to do but wait, and if there was a sure fire method of torture that actually managed to get under Gwaine’s skin, it was waiting. He wanted to go out, find those two damn knights and beat a confession out of them, but he wanted more to know that Merlin was going to be all right. 

So Gwaine made himself comfortable on a rather uncomfortable stool, and waited.

~oOo~

Merlin wanted to say that he was dreaming, but the throbbing pain in his hand and wrist wouldn’t let him and dreams weren’t usually this horribly tangible. He also wanted to wake up, find out why in the world his hand was pulsing so mercilessly, but his brain seemed much more interested in keeping him in his current floating state that made it so easy to assume he was dreaming except for that blasted pain.

“All right, Gaius, where is he?” Merlin heard Arthur say. Now he really hoped he was dreaming and that the pain was some outside annoyance having worked its way into his unconscious mind. Arthur had sounded annoyed – pompously annoyed – and when he managed both pompous and annoyed instead of just annoyed, it meant Merlin had been shirking his duties for too long and there was a chore list a mile long waiting for him. 

“He is currently bed-ridden, if you can’t tell for yourself,” said Gwaine, and, oh, lords, please don’t let Gwaine give Arthur another reason to think the entire army’s boots needed polishing. Merlin highly doubted his arm was up for it, or would be for some time.

Thinking about Camelot’s army led Merlin’s thoughts to swords. Funny the directions the mind went…

Then he remembered.

A blunt blade. Being startled. What should have been a harmless weapon slicing Merlin down his palm and wrist.

A weapon meant for the melee Arthur was participating in.

“Gaius, what happened?” Arthur said, no longer with pompous annoyance but instead with what Merlin could have sworn was concern.  
“You want to know what happened?” Gwaine said tightly. “I’ll tell you what happened, Merlin—“

“Had an accident,” Gaius swiftly and efficiently cut in. “We’re not yet certain of the details and won’t be until Merlin wakes, but he somehow managed to injure his hand. He lost quite a bit of blood, so it may be some time before he wakes up.”

“But he will be all right?” Arthur asked.

“In time. For now what he needs is rest.”

“Yes, of course. Please let me know if there’s any change, Gaius.”

“Yes, sire.”

Footsteps, followed by the creak of Gaius’ old door.

“Why the hell didn’t you say something about those two knights?” Gwaine hissed.

“I told you, Gwaine. Your accusations will mean nothing without more evidence. Have Patience. Merlin will wake and tell us what happened eventually.”

Except eventually wasn’t good enough, not with the melee close at hand and Arthur in danger. Merlin pushed at the haze clouding his brain, fighting to open eyelids that seemed weighted down by boulders, a struggle that made him groan.

Making a sound, it seemed, was not unlike casting a spell he hadn’t intended. No sooner had he made the noise when the room seemed to erupt with the clatter of footfalls and two voices saying his name with much urgency and hope and someone patting his cheek gently.

Merlin finally won the struggle to open his eyes – mostly. He managed to part them just enough to see two blurs that were familiar in shape hovering over him. 

“Merlin. Merlin, I need you to wake up.” That was Gaius.

“Show me that all my hard work lugging you up here hasn’t been for not, mate.” Gwaine.

Merlin’s eyelids fluttered. He focused on the memory of the swords, of the melee and Arthur in danger, and it filled him with just enough adrenaline to be able to clear his vision. Had he the energy, he would have flinched from the two men hovering uncomfortably close overhead. Both men seemed to deflate with a released a breath of relief.

“About time you joined the land of the living,” Gwaine said laughingly. But it was a short-lived mirth. A grim expression quickly settled over Gwaine’s features when he asked, “Merlin, who did this to you? Was it those knights you’ve been tending to?”

But if Merlin thought opening his eyes had been a struggle, finding his voice and getting it to work was a down right battle. He managed to croak something that may have sounded like sword (or may have sounded like ord) when his lips were assaulted by the rim of a wooden cup. It took his fuzzed brain a moment to realize it was Gaius getting him to drink something.

“Gwaine, please. Give the poor boy a moment. This is more than a nap he’s waking from. That he’s awake at all so soon is a miracle.” Giaus then said to Merlin, more kindly, “Take your time, Merlin. You’ve had a serious injury and lost quite a bit of blood.”

Merlin could only reply with a noncommittal, “Mm.” He did as Gaius told him – not having much choice – and took a moment to let the cool water moisten his parched throat. Only then did he try again.

“S-swords,” he managed.

Gwaine frowned. “Swords? What swords? Did those bastards attack you with a sword!”

“Gwaine, please,” Gaius admonished.

“No,” Merlin said, and the more he spoke, the stronger his voice became, but at the same time seemed to require more breaths in between than normal. “Their swords. I – I think they’re… enchanted.”

Gaius’ head reared back. “Enchanted?”

“Th-they look blunted but…” Merlin’s eyes rolled down to his bandaged hand and wrist resting on his chest. “They’re not.”

“And that’s how you injured your hand?” Gwaine said.

“I was… startled and… the sword slipped,” Merlin forced out. The strength he had mustered to talk was ebbing, giving him little time to explain. “A-Arthur’s in… danger.”

Gwaine tossed up his hands and looked at Gaius. “Well, there you go. Our evidence. I get those swords, you show the king that they’re not what they seem, all’s well that end’s well, yeah?”

Merlin, however, shook his head. “Wh-what if they catch you? Y-you have no reason… to be in their chambers.”

Gwaine cocked an eyebrow at him. “I hate to break it to you, mate. But in your condition neither do you.”

“N-not yet. We… still have time. Just – just need to get strong enough to get in… then out…”

Gwain chuffed. “Merlin, I’m starting to think you may be crazier than me.”

“Jus… just don do anything… yet…” Merlin slurred. His body finally had enough, and his weighted eyelids slipped closed.

~oOo~

Gwaine watched as Merlin gave in to exhaustion, laying there pale and still as the dead. He grimaced at the thought. 

“You know, between you and Merlin here it seems the only contribution I’ll be making is to sit on my arse and stay out of the way.”

Gaius sighed wearily as he fussed with the blankets covering Merlin. “Unfortunately, and though it pains me to admit it, Merlin does have a point. He has a reason for going into the knight’s chambers. You do not. Were you to be caught, Uther would turn a deaf ear to anything you had to say. The consequences could very well end in your execution.”

Gwaine glowered. “So we let the man who lost a quart of blood to go in instead. Oh, yeah, brilliant plan.”

“Well,” Gaius said, resigned. “It’s not as though we have to like it.”

~oOo~

Merlin wasn’t up to so much as standing until the next day, but even getting himself upright seemed as dubious an endeavor as sneaking into the knights’ chamber and stealing their enchanted swords. Neither Gaius nor Gwaine (especially Gwaine) were happy about it. In fact Gaius confessed to having attempted an alternate plan that had involved delivery of a “helpful tonic” (that had been, in fact, a potent sleeping aid) but the knights had wanted nothing to do with it. 

Merlin also suspected that Gwaine may have gone against their wishes and attempted to break into the knight’s chamber, but if had attempted it, and had he done so between evening and morning (which would have been the only times – it had been close to evening when Merlin had had his accident with the sword) he wouldn’t have gone far. That wing being the guest wing always had double the patrol during the night, nearly rivaling the number of guards in the royal wing. That Gwaine adamantly denied having tried anything, and that Gaius kept giving him “the eyebrow” might as well have been a full confession. 

Merlin, at first, couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed by their attempts or touched that they had tried to help so that Merlin wouldn’t have to do anything. He’d given into annoyance at first – he didn’t think he was _that_ feeble – but as he dragged his feet down the hall, keeping close to the wall in case his bouts of dizziness got the better of him – he started to really wish they’d succeeded. Dizziness wasn’t the only problem. The pain draught Gaius had given him had been the more tempered concoction that only dulled the pain and not by much. He also felt chilled, not to mention a little nauseas, and his extra-pale complexion coupled with his bound arm resting in a sling was drawing more attention than he cared to deal with. The last thing he needed was to be stopped in the halls and interrogated as to why he was up and about when he looked like death warmed over.

But Merlin made it to the knights’ chambers without being kindly harassed. Being the early morning hours, before even the most insanely early-bird knight would be up, there were few people to run into except the guards, and they weren’t ones to pry into the business of someone looking the opposite of dangerous. Merlin was a man doing his duty was all, come rain, shine or injury (which should have been suspicious in and of itself, but Merlin was painfully aware of how ‘peculiar’ most of the castle thought him). 

Merlin quietly slipped through the doors of the chamber, but had to move from the steadying presence of the wall to get to the chest (which really shouldn’t have been so difficult, but while Merlin’s body wanted to go one way, his legs kept going another). It was just when he _finally_ reached it, and was about to open it that he saw the muted glow of something coming from the vicinity of a sleeping Sir Oswald.

Merlin edged around the bed, closer to Sir Oswald, and saw a crystal around his neck. And within the crystal, the image of a face Merlin had hoped never to see again – that ruffian from the tavern, Dagr.

Merlin’s eyes widened. Lords, this was even better evidence than the bloody swords! But before Merlin had a chance to figure out how to use this new piece of evidence, Sir Oswald’s eyes flew open.

~oOo~

Gwaine paced. Lords, why did everything in his life since meeting Merlin now come down to always having to wait. He glanced out the window at the sun now turning the world pale gold and frowned.

***“He should be back by now,” he said.

Gaius stared at the door, worried. “I know.”

Gwaine paused. Enough was enough. “I’m going to see what’s going on.” He headed straight for the door, Gaius’ protest of “Gwaine,” cut off by his single-minded departure. To hell with potentially getting caught. He would more than gladly risk it if it meant getting Merlin out of whatever trouble he was in. He was actually hoping to find Merlin half-passed out in the hall, unable to fulfill his personal mission of getting those swords and so not in a position of needing rescuing.

But, sadly, as was often Gwaine’s lot in life, reality wasn’t so kind. Gwaine reached the door in time to hear a cry of agony.

“Please, I was just rearranging the bedclothes, that’s all!”

“You hear that, Sir Ethan? He was just rearranging the bedclothes.”

“My mistake. He’s not the sniveling thief I thought he was.”

“I thought you might be cold!”

“Of course you did.”***

Another cry of pain, this one breaking off into a sob. A cue for Gwaine to enter if there ever was one. He burst through the doors to a sight that made his blood boil – Merlin on his knees, pale and shaking with pain while Sir Oswald held tight to his injured wrist.

“Is there a problem here?” Gwaine managed to push through his clenched jaw.

“No, now leave,” Sir Oswald snarled.

“Can’t,” Gwaine said. “Because I have no intentions of leaving without my friend, there. Merlin, you all right?”

“I said leave,” Oswald sneered.*

Gwaine narrowed his eyes at him. “I wasn’t talking to you. And if you had any brains in that thick skull of yours, you’d release Merlin before I detach your hand from your arm.”

Which, of course, for anyone else would have been the wrong thing to say. For Gwaine, it got the results he’d been wanting since discovering Merlin injured. Oswald released Merlin who crumpled over his hurt wrist, cradling it to his chest. Oswald, the supposedly blunted blade in his other hand, advanced on Gwaine, Ethan taking the flank.

*“How dare you speak to a knight like that!”

Gwaine merely smiled, drew his own sword, and the battle was on. About bloody time, was Gwaine’s only thought before their swords clashed and Gwaine was ducking, dodging and parrying. It felt good, brilliant, even, as he elbowed Sir Ethan and drove Sir Oswald back. 

But just as Gwaine had Sir Oswald disarmed, a real knight of Camelot walked in all billowing cape and stern, unhappy expression.

“What’s going on?” Leon demanded.

Gwaine never had a chance to answer when Oswald back-handed him to the floor.

~oOo~

This was all Merlin’s fault. He should have just ignored the crystal and taken the swords. But, no. He had to be greedy, had to go for the crystal, wake Oswald up in the process and now Gwaine was being kicked out of Camelot. Which, yes, wasn’t so bad in the grand scheme of Uther’s often punishment-happy frame of mind when it came to those he thought of lesser status. Arthur had vouched for Gwaine, Gaius had said, or Gwaine’s punishment may very well have involved a rope and a drop with a sudden stop.

But Merlin hadn’t been there to add his voice to Gwaine’s support. Oswald’s rough handling of Merlin’s wrist had reopened part of the wound and blood had soaked nearly the entire bandage. Merlin had been out of his head with dizziness, and had passed out during the guards carrying him to Gaius’ chambers. Then he woke to the bad news. 

Merlin had managed to struggle upright in the patient’s cot just as Gwaine came down from Merlin’s room, pack over his shoulder, to say his good-byes.

“Gwaine, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault,” Merlin babbled.

Gwaine, a jaunty smile on his face, sauntered over and clapped Merlin lightly on the shoulder. 

*“Don't be. I never stay in one place for very long. People get sick of me too quickly.”

Merlin gave him a tremulous smile. “I didn’t.”

“After the trouble I caused?” Gwaine said with a chuff.

“You livened the place up.”

Gwaine chuckled. “Look after Arthur. He’s in danger.”

“I thought you hated nobles?”

“Yeah, well… maybe that one’s worth dying for.”* Gwaine then looked down at Merlin’s wrist, re-bandaged and back in its sling. “Look after yourself, too. Oh, and enough with the guilt. I’ve been booted out of too many places to count for too many reasons to remember. But… it was worth it this time. Believe me.”

He gave Merlin one more clap on the shoulder, then turned and left. As Merlin watched him go it pained him to think this could be the last time he ever saw Gwaine, and he wondered – hoped – if the future would see him running into the man again.

(And it did, when he came back to save Arthur’s life. And again, when he helped Merlin to save Arthur’s life. And again, when he saved the whole bloody kingdom and became the noble knight he was always meant to be).

The End

***Dialog from the episode. 


End file.
